


Deep Dark Sea

by BearlyWriting



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Choking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt: Water Torture, Rescue, Torture, Vomiting, water boarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: "It’s dark. It’s a silly thing to think, because her eyes are covered, so of course it’s dark, but suddenly it’s all she can focus on. The cloth smells like dirt and oil and - worryingly - blood, and she can almost taste it on her tongue when her mouth opens, automatically, to try to drag in air. She can still breathe, although when the Galra ties the cloth tightly behind her skull it becomes more difficult. Her head twitches, trying to push it off, but it’s too late. It’s going to happen.The realisation burns hot at the base of her throat. She shuts her eyes, so she can no longer see the faint purple glow beyond her shroud. Breathes shallowly. Tastes blood in her mouth.Even if the others get to her, they’re going to be too late to save her from this."For the prompt "Water Torture" for the Bad Things Happen Bingo.





	Deep Dark Sea

Pidge tugs at the restraints again. There’s no more give than last time and her wrists are starting to chafe from her struggles. The board beneath her is hard against her back. It’s starting to make her spine ache.

She hasn’t seen anyone since she woke here in the darkness - after her lion had been incapacitated by an odd energy blast. Even worse, she can’t feel Green in her head. When she reaches for the link, she comes up empty.

Still, when a door slides open on the far wall, spilling purple-tinted light across the room, and admitting a huge, ugly Galra that Pidge doesn’t recognise, she can’t help but wish she was still alone.

The Galra stalks towards her, stopping at the edge of the board she’s strapped to, grinning down at her with sharp, white teeth.

“The Green Paladin,” he says. “I believe you have some information that will be of use to me.”

Pidge keeps her mouth shut, glaring at him as best she can from her position strapped to the board. She has no idea who this Galra is - some lieutenant from the outer reaches who wants a bit of power. She’s not about to give it to him.

“Just tell me how to control the lions and I can set you free.”

Pidge knows that’s not true. Even if she tells him how to control the lions - and he won’t like it - he’ll only ask her more questions. She presses her lips tight together.

The Galra leans over her and hot, rancid breath washes over her face. She can see the flash of sharp-tipped teeth and she bares her own in response. The Galra laughs. One long claw trails down the delicate skin of Pidge’s face and she jerks away from the sting. Heat blooms at the sharp point of pain. She’s bleeding.

“You will tell me,” the Galra promises. His voice is a low rumble that makes her shudder against the restraints.

She snarls. “Never!”

But the Galra just smirks. The long curve of his claw rests lightly against her pulse and she can feel it thundering against his touch. More fingers slide over her throat and then the Galra is squeezing, pressing tight against her windpipe. Pidge forces herself to stay still. Even as her body struggles to fight back, and her throat works against the constricting force.

“Brave,” the Galra says. His hand flexes, cutting off even the strained, shallow breaths Pidge had managed to force past his hand. She chokes, back flexing, pulse thundering in her head. Until, abruptly, the hand loosens and Pidge can suck in a desperate breath.

The Galra’s smile is cruel. “Let’s see if you can keep that up.”

Pidge shuts her eyes. Focuses on dragging air into her lungs. Those seconds of breathlessness have sent an awful, icy fear crawling through her chest and she knows - _knows_ \- that it is going to get worse. She doesn’t need to see the Galra’s face to be aware of that.

There’s movement beside her, the rustle of the Galra turning away, and her eyes flicker open before she can stop them. A sentry has stepped close beside them, a stained rag in one hand, and a dented metal bucket in the other. Pidge can hear water sloshing against the sides as the sentry sets it carefully on the floor.

The ice in Pidge’s chest expands. It spikes through her entire body. Chills her arms and legs until her fingers feel numb. This is bad. This is _bad_.

Some of her fear must show on her face because the Galra chuckles. He takes the cloth from the sentry, holding it loosely in one hand, and grabs Pidge’s chin with the other, forcing her to look up at him. His claws are little points of pain.

Pidge doesn’t close her eyes. She glares. If she could spit in his face, she would, but her mouth is too dry.

The cloth hovers threateningly above her and Pidge knows what’s coming but she can’t seem to brace herself for it. Her mind is too slippery. One panicked thought after another.

“Please,” she manages, and is surprised by how small her voice sounds. “Please don’t do this.”

She hadn’t meant to beg, but the moment she had opened her mouth it slipped out. 

That awful smile curves across the Galra’s face. “You can stop this,” he says softly. It’s strangely intimate and Pidge can’t stop another helpless shudder. “All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

She can’t. The others will come for her, she knows that. What’s a few moments of pain if it means keeping people safe? And yet the urge to give in - to beg and plead and bargain - is so strong that Pidge has to bite her tongue hard enough to draw blood to stop herself from opening her mouth.

The smile disappears when she shakes her head. But that’s all she can do. If she opens her mouth now Pidge is afraid of what might come out.

“As you wish,” he says, and the cloth comes down over her face.

It’s dark. It’s a silly thing to think, because her eyes are covered, so of course it’s dark, but suddenly it’s all she can focus on. The cloth smells like dirt and oil and - worryingly - blood, and she can almost taste it on her tongue when her mouth opens, automatically, to try to drag in air. She can still breathe, although when the Galra ties the cloth tightly behind her skull it becomes more difficult. Her head twitches, trying to push it off, but it’s too late. It’s going to happen.

The realisation burns hot at the base of her throat. She shuts her eyes, so she can no longer see the faint purple glow beyond her shroud. Breathes shallowly. Tastes blood in her mouth.

Even if the others get to her, they’re going to be too late to save her from this.

Claws stroke through her hair, pricking lightly at her scalp, and she bucks her head again, twists her wrists furiously in their restraints. The Galra chuckles, and she can feel the heat of his breath even through the cloth. Then - nothing. Silence. Pidge strains to hear past the thundering of her own pulse in her ears. She needs to be ready. When he picks up that bucket…

But she’s not ready when water splashes over her face without warning. It’s cold. That’s the first thing she thinks, because the sudden chill against her skin shocks her, sends goosebumps prickling across her entire body. She twists her head automatically, trying to get out from under the spray, but she can’t move far enough. Then it soaks through the cloth and trickles up her nose and suddenly the fact that it’s cold is the last thing Pidge is worried about.

Without thinking, Pidge opens her mouth to gasp and only succeeds in dragging rancid water down her throat. She chokes. Gags. Spasms helplessly around the intrusion. But the water just keeps coming, pouring relentlessly over her face. 

It has to have only been seconds - if that - but Pidge already feels dizzy. It feels as though the water has seeped straight through her head and into her brain. She can’t think, can’t do anything but desperately try to force air down her throat. Her arms and legs tense and shake, instinctively trying to get her away, but the restraints are too tight to allow them any real movement.

She’s going to die. It’s a hollow pit in her chest. This is it.

Then, abruptly, the water stops. The cloth is still damp, sealed against her face, but when she gasps against it, a little air comes through. Then the cloth is peeled back and Pidge can _breathe_ again.

That first, desperate gust of air burns like acid against her raw throat. She coughs. Coughs again. Spasms helplessly as her body tries to expel the water she ingested. It hurts. It feels as though her throat has been torn apart. Her lungs burn.

When she opens her eyes, the world spins dizzily around her and her stomach clenches against a cold wave of nausea. Goosebumps rise painfully on her skin. If she throws up now everything will be even worse and she can’t afford that. It’s bad enough already.

The Galra looms over her and she can see his sharp, white grin even through the blur of her vision.

“32 seconds,” he says. God, is that all? 32 seconds and it had felt like a lifetime. Pidge has to clench her teeth hard to stop some hysterical noise coming out. “Impressive.”

Pidge is still trying to regulate her breathing so she doesn’t snap back at him like she wants to. Just lets her head loll back, trying to take slow, measured breaths.

He doesn’t let her rest for long. The cloth comes back down on her face. It smells even worse now it’s wet, like metal and vomit, and Pidge can’t help the little hitch in her breathing as her world goes dark again.

“Let’s see if you can last even longer this time,” the Galra says, from somewhere above her. His hand closes over the top of Pidge’s arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise, and his claws pierce through the skin there. A small, wounded sound slips out of Pidge’s mouth before she can stop it and the hand abruptly gentles, turning to stroke lightly over her arm instead. It’s almost as bad as the pain. With her eyes covered like this, she can’t see him, and that small vulnerability makes everything seem a thousand times worse.

“All you have to do is tell me and this can all end.”

Pidge doesn’t even have the strength to shake her head. The cloth is shifting with her quick, panting breaths, trying to suck as much oxygen into her lungs as she can before the inevitable loss. 

The Galra tuts and this time Pidge hears the slosh of the bucket before water cascades over her face.

It’s just as bad as last time - worse. Pidge isn’t sure how long it lasts. She loses track. It could be seconds. It could be hours. Her head feels strangely detached, as if it might float away with each pulse of liquid, yet, at the same time, she’s punishingly aware of her body - of every twitch and twinge of pain, of the burning, empty clench of her lungs.

Her mind is slippery, thoughts twisting over and around one another without any grip, floating away into the sudden void in her head. She can’t think. All she can do is jerk and choke and gag. Strain mindlessly against her bonds as the water keeps coming. And coming. And _coming_.

Then, nothing. Pidge doesn’t even notice at first, because she still can’t breathe and her body is still fighting against the pressure on her face. But eventually a little air filters through and Pidge manages to take a shallow, sobbing breath through the cloth. Then another. Then another.

There are noises somewhere beyond her little bubble of darkness. A heavy thump. Something sharp like blaster fire. It’s difficult to tell with the roaring in her ears and the ragged sound of her own breaths.

When someone touches her shoulder, gently, she can’t help her full-bodied flinch. The hand disappears as if burned.

“Pidge, oh my God, Pidge!” The words are startlingly loud, spoken right by her ear. Pidge jerks again, straining against her bonds, and an odd little whine slips out of her mouth without her permission. Her head is so scrambled that she can’t even recognise the voice.

The hands return. Pidge can feel them hovering above her, but they don’t touch her again.

Someone says, “Lance,” much more softly, and the hands are gone, replaced by a different pair, which work on pulling the cloth from her face with brisk efficiency. Pidge doesn’t flinch again - she doesn’t have the energy - and she lets the hands twist her head gently to reach the knot at the back of her skull without protest.

When the cloth is finally, _finally_ gone, Pidge takes one deep, awful breath, before blinking blurrily up into the faces of Shiro and Lance. 

Relief hits her like a punch to the chest. It’s so strong that it makes her limbs weak, makes her fingers tingle and her toes feel numb. She blinks again, rapidly, to try to clear her vision, and the faces of her teammates swim above her, but don’t disappear. They’re here. They’re really here.

Lance smiles, although his face is tight. Shiro doesn’t bother smiling, just gets to work on the restraints holding Pidge’s wrists in place, face a cool, blank slate. Lance works at her other wrist, but he can’t help leaning over her, touching her cheek with his other hand.

“It’s OK Pidge, we’re gonna get you out. It’s OK.”

Pidge can’t reply. Her throat is so raw that it feels as though she’s swallowed a knife and her chest burns almost as painfully. She takes another sobbing breath and is surprised when tears spill over and trail down her cheeks. Lance’s face contracts with horror at the sight and he abandons the straps to press a hand through Pidge’s hair.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, you’re safe now. It’s OK. Right Shiro?”

Pidge isn’t sure if she wants to lean into Lance, or pull away. Despite everything there’s something strangely embarrassing about the tears streaming down her face.

“That’s right,” Shiro agrees, as the last of the restraints falls away. Hesitantly, Pidge pulls her arms in close to her chest. The sudden rush of blood hurts, and her hands are swollen and tender where they brush against her clothes.

Shiro winces in sympathy. “Do you think you can walk?” he asks.

Pidge isn’t even sure if she can sit up on her own. Her head feels so light. She feels strangely like a balloon, her body a limp piece of string as her head tries it’s best to float away. She still can’t speak, so she just shakes her head, shutting her eyes against the dizzying nausea that the motion produces.

Shiro’s voice is very soft as he says, “OK. Lance will you take point?” Then, turning back to her: “I’m going to pick you up now Katie, OK?”

Lance moves away. Pidge can hear him talking to the others on the comms. Her helmet. Where’s her helmet?

“Pidge?” Shiro prompts. When she looks at him, his face wavers, as if she’s under the surface of the water. She can’t remember what he’d asked her, so she just nods, moving her head as little as possible.

It must be the right answer because Shiro leans forward and lifts her carefully into his arms.

It’s obvious that Shiro is trying to move as smoothly as possible, but Pidge still has to clench her teeth against the churning of her stomach. It feels grotesquely full - as if all of the rancid water she had inhaled is sloshing around inside it - and she has to alternate between staring intently at Lance’s back, and slamming her eyes shut to keep the queasy feeling away.

It doesn’t really work. Thankfully, Shiro manages to get her on the ground in time to avoid her throwing up all over him.

“Oh man,” Lance says. He’s standing over her, gun still in his hands, looking politely down the corridor as Shiro rubs her back. “Are you OK?”

Pidge heaves again. The water is almost as bad coming back up. It tastes foul and burns her already ruined throat and she can’t breathe. She gasps between retches, hating this, hating herself, and clings to the front of Shiro’s armour with a sort of awful desperation.

Lance leans over her and then her hair is being brushed carefully out of her face. “Just let it all out,” he murmurs, close to her ear. “That’s what my mama used to say.”

Pidge manages to choke out a sob, before falling limply against Shiro’s chest.

She can feel the two of them exchanging a glance over her head. “Are you ready to go?” Shiro asks and it’s obvious he’s trying to hide the urgency in his voice.

But suddenly it seems very important that Pidge asks, “Green?” She slurs the word, and it burns like bile coming up, but she manages to get it out.

“Don’t worry about Green,” Lance says. He’s stepped back to give Shiro room to pick her up, and his gun is ready in his hands again. “We picked her up. Your helmet and Bayard too.”

That’s good. Pidge had been worried about her lion - about not being able to feel her in the bond. But if the castle has her-

Shiro lifts her again. There’s no nausea this time - Pidge feels strangely empty now, and she lets her head rest limply on Shiro’s shoulder.

“It’s OK Pidge,” Shiro says. “We’re going to get you home.”

 

***

 

In the end, Pidge hadn’t even needed a healing pod. There were a few superficial marks, some bruising, some damage to her throat. But after everything, there wasn’t much to show for her ordeal.

Pidge had agreed to take a few days downtime. Had accepted the worried hugs from Hunk and Lance, and the gentle grip on her arm from Keith. Then she had holed herself up in her lab for three days straight.

Apparently three days is the limit for respecting her privacy though, because eventually Lance comes to find her. He doesn’t hesitate in the doorway, like she half expects him to, just walks right in and settles himself on her desk.

Pidge glances up and meets his gaze over the top of her computer. “Can I help you?”

“More like can I help you?” Lance says and pushes her laptop shut with a soft click. “When was the last time you showered?”

Pidge glares. It’s easier to be angry than to admit that the sound of the running water makes her break out in a cold sweat, that the idea of getting her face wet makes her feel physically ill. Because that’s stupid, _she’s_ stupid, but she can’t help it.

“Go away,” she snarls, perhaps harsher than strictly necessary. But Lance doesn’t seem concerned. He keeps one hand on her computer, stopping her from opening it and Pidge has to resist the urge to pry his fingers off.

“Pidge,” he says, voice very soft. “You know you can talk to me right?”

Pidge just glares again. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need Lance to be worried about her.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lance huffs, then, when she continues to ignore him, slips off of the desk, says, “Fine,” and finally leaves. Pidge flips her computer open once he’s gone and hides her face behind it.

She had wanted Lance to leave. So she shouldn’t want him back now.

But - whether she wants him to or not - Lance does return a few moments later, this time with a rather bewildered Shiro in tow.

“Shiro,” he snaps. “Will you tell her that she has to come out of the lab at some point.”

The Black Paladin’s face contracts. He says: “Oh Pidge.”

For absolutely no reason at all, Pidge starts to cry.

It’s stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , and she chokes against the sobs rising in her throat, trying to force them back down into her chest where they belong. A few seconds of not being able to breathe, of getting a bit wet, and she’s a total mess. It’s pathetic.

Lance makes a soft, surprised sound and lurches forwards to wrap his arms around her. She leans into his hug, pressing her face into his shoulder so he won’t be able to see her tears. One of his hands come up to stroke over the back of her head. He murmurs something that might be Spanish and that Pidge doesn’t understand.

When she finally leans back, both of her friends are watching her with something close to pity. Shiro steps around the table, drops into the chair next to her, and says, earnestly: “I’m so sorry.” 

He reaches out and Pidge takes his offered hand with a sniffle. “I’m so sorry, Pidge.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, because, knowing Shiro, that’s exactly what he’s thinking. Then, “I’m being silly.”

“No you’re not,” Lance snaps.

And Shiro’s face is tight when he says, “You were waterboarded Pidge, it’s OK to be upset.”

Pidge knows that. She knows that if it had been Shiro or Lance or Hunk or Keith, she wouldn’t think they were silly for crying about it. She wouldn’t hate them for being weak or stupid.

Still, Pidge thinks it will take a bit more convincing before she feels that way about herself. Luckily Shiro and Lance aren’t going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I don't know how to end fanfictions XD
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat, or to request a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt!


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